


Best. Brunch. Ever.

by ceruleancats



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Comedy, Cooking, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, No Incest, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, alternate universe post-s1 where luther didn't lock vanya up so the apocalypse didn't happen, but here we are, no goddamn incest and i shouldn't even have to say that, slight sexualization of waffles (klaus's mind is a very strange place)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleancats/pseuds/ceruleancats
Summary: Klaus is on a mission to bond with Five, and clearly the best way to do that is by working together to cook an elaborate brunch for the family. Because this is Klaus we're talking about, though, it doesn't go exactly as planned.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 41
Kudos: 218





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is technically set in the same universe as my other tua fic (Best. Waterpark. Ever.), but you don't have to read it in order to understand the beautiful brotherly bonding happening here. also no spoilers for s2 bc this takes place in an alt-post-s1 timeline :)
> 
> let me know if ya liked this chapter! i'm planning on five total, but we'll see how that goes.

In retrospect, barging into the bedroom of his most violent sibling before the sun was up may not have been the smartest of plans, but then again, forethought never really had been Klaus’s forte.

He’d leaned over Five’s sleeping form, which was tucked adorably under the comforter in those little Academy pajamas that Five continued to wear even after Allison had gone through all the trouble of buying him some less uniform-y sleepwear. 

“Hey, Fivey,” Klaus had whispered, and suddenly there was an icy cold pressure on his neck.

“Christ on a _cracker_!” Klaus squawked in outrage, recoiling from the knife that had materialized at his throat. “What the fuck, Five?”

Five blinked a couple times, seeming to wake up further and realize he was threatening a beloved family member and not some temporal assassin intruder. “Ah, Klaus,” he said nonchalantly, slipping the knife back under his pillow and acting like he hadn't just been a millimeter away from committing fratricide. “What are you doing up so early? And what are you doing in my room, for that matter?” 

Five picked his way out of bed and gave Klaus a quick once-over, probably taking in the general disheveledness that came from waking up screaming from nightmares of Dave dying in his arms, again. So, maybe Klaus wasn't entirely over Vietnam just yet. But what better way to distract himself from the soundtrack of gunshots and cries of pain that had been playing on repeat in the back of his mind since he'd awoken than to annoy one of his siblings? And besides, Five had committed himself to bonding time with Klaus a few weeks ago, and they still hadn't gotten around to it.

“Well,” Klaus said dryly, rubbing his neck to make sure it was still intact (fortunately, it was), “I _was_ going to suggest you make good on your little promise to cook with me, but I'm not sure I trust you with any pointy utensils at the moment.”

Five scowled, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but Klaus thought he could detect a hint of guilt in the frown for the attempted murder. “Hmm. That. I suppose I did promise you I would...“ He tilted his head, considering. “What were you planning on making?”

“Uh,” said Klaus eloquently, since he hadn't really thought past the whole ‘cook with Five to distract yourself from the debilitating nightmares’ part of the plan. “How about some, like, brunch food or something? It is a Sunday, so it'd totally fit.”

“Oh,” Klaus continued before Five could confirm or deny, getting more on board with his spur-of-the-moment idea each second, “we could make avocado toast! And Belgian waffles! And mimosas! We'll be so fucking trendy, man.”

Five looked vaguely confused for a second—right, avocado toast probably hadn't exactly been on the post-apocalypse menu—but shrugged. Knowing Five, he was probably down for anything involving day drinking. “Now that you've made sure I'm awake, I guess I might as well do something productive. And I definitely don't trust you not to burn down the kitchen if you try to cook alone, so, lead the way,” he said, voice surprisingly light despite the mockery.

“Alright!” Klaus clapped in triumph and spun on his heel. “To the kitchen!”

— 

Klaus let his head fall back on the kitchen table with a thunk. Squirming to get comfortable in his position on top of it, he stretched his arms out behind him, narrowly missing the mug Five was clutching the same way a drowning man might cling to a life preserver. Five nearly hissed at him and cradled the coffee close to his chest before draining the mug. Goddamn, how many cups of coffee could one old man-slash-teenager drink? Klaus might have woken him up at an ungodly hour, but still. That was the fourth (fifth?) Five had just finished, and now he was just staring into the bottom of the mug like maybe he was trying to divine the secrets of the universe from coffee dregs. Alright, enough was enough. Klaus rolled over onto his side to face Five, snapping his fingers near Five’s face obnoxiously.

“Earth to Five, come in Five.”

Five jerked to attention, frowning, and put the empty mug back down on the table.

“I’m perfectly awake, thanks. Although given the hour, I have every right not to be,” he said wryly, staring pointedly over Klaus’s head at the utter lack of light outside the kitchen windows. 

Klaus shrugged and slid off the table into the seat opposite Five. Not like he really had an argument for that one. “Hey, you agreed to this whole cooking expedition. Speaking of, do you have any idea where Mom keeps her recipe books?”

Klaus would ask Mom himself, except that since last week when Pogo had removed the restriction dear old Dad had put in her programming to keep her from leaving the house by herself, Mom was on her first ever vacay. According to Diego, she’d expressed some interest in seeing the ocean, which had somehow resulted in a two-week solo trip to Florida. Several members of the household, namely Luther (the only one brave or stupid enough to question Mom’s activities in front of Diego), had expressed concern over the fact that salt water and sand were maybe not ideal for a robot filled with, you know, circuits and other non-waterproof electronics, but he had quailed before Diego’s murderous gaze of motherly support. So Klaus and Five would just have to figure out the recipes for all their beautiful brunch food without the help of the most qualified chef in the house (Allison and Vanya weren’t terrible cooks, but the men of the house were lost causes—Diego ate raw fucking eggs, for God’s sake). 

“I would hazard a guess that they’re somewhere in the kitchen, but I’ve never actually seen her use a book of recipes. Maybe Dad programmed them all into her. That would certainly put an end to our little plan pretty quick,” Five said, not sounding at all heartbroken over the possibility.

Well, Klaus wasn’t having any of that. This brotherly bonding brunch was happening if it killed them both. Time to search the kitchen.

Klaus was beginning to think it would kill them both, actually, when fifteen solid minutes of searching turned up neither hide nor hair of anything remotely resembling a recipe. Well, probably it would just kill him, and he would kill Five himself from beyond the grave, because the lazy asshole had been content to sit at the table and comment helpfully on which places Klaus should be looking. Why would the recipes be inside the oven, Klaus, is your brain fried enough that you really think Mom put books in the refrigerator? 

“Maybe she did! How would you even know, you little asshole? Not like you’ve been here for the past seventeen years,” Klaus snapped, slamming the fridge door closed. (Obviously the recipe books hadn’t been in the fridge, but that was beside the point.)

Five rolled his eyes in the way that somehow always perfectly conveyed the phrase I Can’t Believe I Have To Fucking Interact With You Imbeciles On A Daily Basis. “How many times have we been over this, Klaus? I. Did not leave. On purpose. And I tried to get back...for forty-five years,” he said slowly, punctuating his words with pauses like he was talking to a kindergartener. 

Klaus huffed out a sigh, probably more dramatically than was warranted (but hey, if Five wanted to be a dramatic bitch, Klaus was allowed, too). “Fiiiiiiiine. And we all love and appreciate you for it, blah, blah, blah. Now, could you help me find the recipes, _please_?”

“Oh, Klaus, why didn’t you lead with that?” Five said, all wide eyes and innocence. “I would be happy to help.”

Fuckin’ old men teenagers. Literally the worst possible combination of ages.

Klaus collapsed into one of the chairs at the dining table, as Five blinked away to God-knew-where. So, what, were the books not even in the kitchen to begin with or something?

His silent question was answered seconds later when Five reappeared with an armful of pristine-looking cookbooks. God fucking damn it. 

“They were in the library, idiot,” Five said, in response to the probably incredulous expression on Klaus’s face. He dropped the books down on the dining table with an aggressive thump that Klaus resisted the urge to flinch at. 

He and Five pawed through them in silence for a couple seconds, and it quickly became apparent that the theme of the recipes were generally more along the lines of “fancy dinner party with a couple senators” rather than “trendy brunch food for dummies.” 

“Hm,” said Five.

“Hm,” said Klaus.

“Klaus, what the hell are you doing?” said Ben.

Klaus did _not_ jump and/or scream in any sense of the words, but he did calmly tell Ben not to sneak up on him god _damn_ it, and then told Five, probably somewhat redundantly, that Ben was in the room with them now.

“Hello, Ben,” Five said serenely, gazing about four feet to the right of the ghost in question. “Do you happen to know if Mom had recipes for Belgian waffles in any of these books? Klaus has got it in his head that we need brotherly bonding time, and evidently that involves making waffles.”

“And avocado toast and mimosas.” Just to make sure Five didn’t forget. They were going all out on this.

Ben looked at Five, then at the heap of cookbooks, then at Klaus. He sighed. “Somehow I can already tell this is going to end badly. But fine, yes, it’s in this one.” He pointed to a book near the bottom of the pile, whose spine proclaimed it “Betty’s Brunch Bible.” Well, Klaus wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth on this one and ask why the fuck Ben knew which book of recipes had waffles in them, because he was about 95% sure that would end up in some kind of ghost lecture (many of the questions Klaus asked did, honestly). So he grabbed the Brunch Bible and presented it to Five with a sweeping bow. “Our recipe, courtesy of everyone’s favorite ghost.”

“You’re welcome,” Ben said, doing that thing where he looked up at the ceiling and probably prayed to little girl God that Klaus didn’t fuck it up this time. Which, fair.

Meanwhile, Five had opened the book and was scanning the table of contents with his characteristic intensity. After a second, he made a triumphant noise and flipped to a page with a drool-worthy picture of perfectly golden Belgian waffles. Oh, hell yeah.

“Okay, flour, baking powder, sugar, eggs, oil, milk, vanilla extract,” Five rattled off, tracing his finger down the page. “I assume Mom would keep the kitchen stocked with most of these things.”

“Yeah, I think she usually has the basics. Lemme check the fridge, though.”

Klaus crossed the kitchen and stuck his head back in the fridge. Which, he suddenly remembered, had been...very bare when he’d given it a cursory once-over in search of the cookbooks. Uh oh.

Approximately half a slice of pizza, one egg (slightly cracked), and three partially-empty containers of mayonnaise sat sadly on the shelves. Why the hell did they have _three_ containers of mayonnaise? This was definitely Luther’s fault somehow.

“Uh,” said Klaus over his shoulder, “we might have a bit of a problem, actually.”

“...What?” Five said dangerously, looking up from the recipe book to skewer Klaus with a glare.

“We have like one egg, and that’s it for usable ingredients. Though the upside is, if we decide we’d rather have sandwiches, we do have an absolute plethora of mayonnaise choices.”

“Except you don’t actually have any sandwich ingredients,” Ben added helpfully. Yes, thanks, Ben, we all _knew that_.

Five blinked at him once, opened his mouth, and then probably decided it wasn’t even worth asking. “Great. I assume this means we’re taking a trip to the store? That or we can let this little brunch plan die before it has a chance to end in disaster.”

“Five!” Klaus said, scandalized. “I thought we were having a bonding moment! Come on, you promised me you’d try to cook with me.” 

Five looked vaguely constipated (his I Don’t Like This, But Unfortunately I’m Considering It face).

Klaus broke out his pout/puppy dog eyes combo. “Pretty please?”

Five cracked almost instantly. (Hah, never failed.) “Yes, fine, let’s just go to the store and get this over with,” he said, in a distinctly grousy tone of voice. But if Klaus’s Five Mood Analyzer was working correctly, he was detecting a distinct hint of anticipation, or perhaps interest. Wait a sec, how long had it been since Five had gone to a grocery store? Had he ever? It wasn’t like they were making family trips there as children; food had always just appeared on the table and none of them had questioned it. Oh shit, was this Baby’s First Shopping Trip? Because looting stores in the apocalypse totally didn’t count.

“Wait, will this be your first time actually shopping for groceries?” Klaus blurted out, because his brain-to-mouth filter was legitimately nonexistent. Oh god, Five was going to kill him right here in the kitchen for even insinuating he was lacking experience in a field, wasn’t he.

But instead of immediately stabbing him in the heart (verbally or literally), Five just tilted his head, looked contemplative, and said, “Huh, I guess it will be. Though not if you count the stores I looted in the early days, back when I was eating human food and not cockroaches.”

Gross, Five had been eating cockroaches? Although...right, it had been forty-five years. Not a lot of food lasted that long. God, his appetite must be right fucked. Klaus was no stranger to skipped meals, of course, but damn.

“Hey, just you wait, grocery stores are the height of luxury!” Klaus said, rallying. “Truly a wonder of the modern world. Gotta love, uh, gotta love grocery stores!” 

Five looked up at him and raised one eyebrow, slowly. “...Right. Sounds thrilling. I can just blink over there and grab the ingredients we need, actually. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Nooooo, Five, we have to go together! For the bonding,” Klaus said, skipping across the kitchen to drape himself over the back of Five’s chair.

Five batted him off the chair irritably. “Is this really necessary? I only agreed to the cooking part, if you recall.”

“Come on, I can give you, like, a personal tour of the grocery store! It’ll be fun!”

“I’ll go with you if you promise to unequivocally _not_ do that.”

Understandable, but Five was definitely going to be missing out. Klaus had impeccable tour guide skills. “Deal. You totally won’t regret this!”

“Really, really hoping I won’t,” Five grumbled under his breath. Then, to Klaus: “I hope you have some more of Dad’s money squirrelled away in that terrible coat of yours. I’m a bit low on funds at the moment.” He patted the empty pockets of the little uniform shorts he’d changed into demonstratively (and god, they really had to have a conversation about his weird insistence on wearing nothing but that kiddie uniform. But that was a problem for future Klaus).

“Yep,” Klaus chirped, stuffing his hand into his coat pocket and bringing out a handful of crumpled bills. “Plenty of valuable antiques nobody’ll miss lying around this old dump. Just don’t tell Luther, or I think he’d have a temper tantrum.”

“Good. And don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” Five said seriously. 

And with that, he grabbed Klaus’s arm and tugged him bodily into the void.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. it's been like a month. all i will say on the matter is: zoom university? not all it's cracked up to be
> 
> (please enjoy this chapter, and let me know what ya liked!)

“What the fuck!” Klaus screeched, rounding on Five, once he had recovered enough to be sure opening his mouth wouldn’t result in projectile vomit. 

Oh, shit, maybe he’d spoken too soon. He held up a finger at Five and pressed his lips together as his stomach rebelled again. Clearly it was not a fan of being compressed through a hole in spacetime. Well, neither was fucking Klaus.

“Could you _warn_ a guy before you take him on Mr. Five’s Wild Ride?” he continued indignantly, once his stomach reluctantly decided it was a false alarm, puke officially staying inside body. Hell yeah, Klaus had a stomach of steel! Must be all the dumpster bagels.

Five just stared at him, unimpressed. Five was way too good at looking unimpressed. Must be some sort of teenage body-related power. “Sorry,” he said, sounding blatantly un-sorry, as usual. “But regardless, we’re here.”

Here? Klaus finally looked up and saw that, indeed, they were standing in front of a grocery store. “Have you ever considered, oh, I don’t know, driving?” Klaus said calmly, though his voice had somehow jumped an octave by the end of the sentence.

“Blinking is faster,” Five said, bored, but Mama Grace hadn’t raised no fool, and Klaus could see the smirk playing at the edges of Five’s carefully flattened lips. 

“Uh huh,” said Klaus. “You think you’re soooooooo smart, dontcha?”

“Well, I am a genius.”

“Well, I am gonna kick your—” Klaus started, before remembering they were supposed to be bonding, not beating each other up. Brotherly bonding. Brotherly bonding. Brotherly bonding. Do not beat up your smarmy big/little brother even though he absolutely deserves it.

Klaus sucked in a breath. “What I meant to say is, I would love to accompany you into the store, brother dear!” he said, as sweetly as humanly possible.

Five’s smirk made a full appearance. “Glad to hear it.”

— 

The store was closed.

Of fucking course it was. It was possible that this was something they should have predicted, given that the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, but apparently Five’s “genius” didn’t extend to things like realizing most grocery stores didn’t open before dawn. 

“Huh,” Five said. “Guess brunch won’t be happening. Oh well.” He tensed up, clearly preparing to blink away, but Klaus grabbed his arm before he could jump.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, not so fast.” Klaus dragged Five over to the store’s doors, where the hours were printed on the glass in a neat black font, and briefly consulted the gold pocket watch he'd liberated from Dad's study and taken to carrying around in his pocket for the aesthetic. “Look, it actually opens in like half an hour! That’s practically the perfect amount of time for a brotherly bonding chat!” Klaus was over the idea of punching Five already — _this_ was even better payback. Five _hated_ conversation for the sake of it, and he especially despised any kind of conversation with the end goal of emotional connection.

Five grimaced and shook his arm out of Klaus’s grip. “Must we?”

“Oh yes we must,” Klaus said, not even trying to hide his glee. “This is part of the brunch process, and you _promised_.”

Five closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Klaus wondered idly if he was praying to the Little Girl Upstairs for strength and/or patience. Maybe not. Five didn’t exactly strike Klaus as the religious type. 

“Fine. What exactly do you want to talk about, Klaus?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Klaus honestly hadn’t thought he’d get this far, which was starting to become the theme of the day.

“Uh. How’s apocalypse-free life going? You know, because the apocalypse was like your drug and you’ve basically just been forced to quit it cold turkey?” Great start, Klaus, bring up the topic that had him shattering glass eyeballs and disappearing in a huff last time. Way to bond. 

Five stared at him, incredulous. Like, how-dare-you-presume incredulous. Klaus almost tripped over his own tongue to add, “I just mean, I can relate. Sobriety is hard. I thought we could commiserate, maybe?”

Five’s stare softened somewhat. “I appreciate the concern, Klaus, but I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The pause in conversation stretched into a silence, which rapidly became awkward. Yikes. Klaus, who literally always had something to say, couldn’t think of anything. 

“Are you sure?” Klaus finally blurted out. “Because, no offense, but I’ve seen how many bottles are missing from dear old Dad’s liquor cabinet, and I’m pretty sure the others haven’t taken up binge drinking in the past couple of weeks.”

Five’s face hardened again. “I said, I’m fine. Are you deaf, or is your brain just irreparably broken? Because I’ve told you this several times now.”

Ah, lashing out. That was always when you could tell Five was feeling vulnerable. Klaus just had to dig a little deeper. But he also had to be gentle, act like Five was a cornered wild animal or something (because that was honestly what he acted like anytime pesky things like feelings came up. Probably had something to do with growing up in the apocalypse with zero human contact and zero emotional connection — not that the rest of them had gotten much of that last one living in the Hargreeves Boarding School from Hell. Klaus had been to two therapy appointments since the not-apocalypse, so he was basically an expert on the human psyche now). 

“Hey, you know it’s okay if you’re not fine, right? Dad fucked us up real good, and then you had the whole forty-five years in the apocalypse thing, plus the whole traveling back in time, getting stuck in your teenage body, and having to stop the apocalypse from ever happening thing, so I’m pretty damn sure no one would judge you for not being hunky-dory all the time. Like, literally none of us are okay. That’s the whole point of all those Family Meetings and therapy Vanya keeps trying to get us all to do. Part of the journey to getting to ‘fine’ is, you know, talking about how we feel and working through it. I learned that in therapy!” Five had refused to go, despite Vanya’s insistence (he had claimed he was “the most well-adjusted of any of you idiots,” which was a blatant lie), and honestly Klaus had been reluctant at first, too, but holy shit therapy was like brain magic. Klaus was expecting to be completely healed within the month at the rate he was progressing. Or something like that.

Klaus paused his impassioned speech to take a breath. He dared to sneak a glance at Five’s face (he had been giving this speech to Five’s forehead, which was his favorite trick for avoiding eye contact without looking like he was avoiding it), and was somewhat shocked to see Five looking thoughtful instead of murderous. It had really been fifty-fifty.

“That’s...surprisingly mature of you to say, Klaus.” Five’s gaze flicked up to meet Klaus’s, and he scrutinized Klaus for a few moments, looking like maybe he was grudgingly adjusting his estimation of his idiot brother from “incompetent babbling lunatic” to “incompetent babbling lunatic who sometimes, against all odds, has a point.”

Klaus very nearly ruined it by saying something self-aggrandizing like, “Yes, therapy has indeed made me the Mental Health King, bow down bitches,” but managed to restrain himself to a subdued, “Why, thank you! I knew someday someone in this family would appreciate my little speeches.”

Five rolled his eyes, of course, but it looked almost good natured.

“Soooooooo, ready to admit that you’re not fine? We can have a secret club if you want. Hargreeves Siblings Who Are Mature Enough to Admit That Their Emotional and Mental State Is Slightly Fucked But Not Well-Adjusted Enough to Go Around Telling People That All Willy-Nilly.” Everyone knew the best secret club names were an entire sentence long.

“Klaus.”

“HSWAMETATTEAMSISFBNWAETGATPTAWN for short.”

“Seriously, how did you even remember all those words?”

“Maybe that’s a little too long. Okay, different name. How do you feel about ‘Motherfuckers Unlimited’?”

“If I tell you I’m not fine, will you shut up?” 

“Absolutely,” Klaus told Five, smiling beatifically. 

“Wonderful. Okay. I’ll admit, adjusting to life without the apocalypse looming over me every moment of every day hasn’t exactly been...easy.” Five frowned, eyes far away, and Klaus wondered what he was seeing. “It’s possible that I’ve had...a few flashbacks. Where I forget that I ever got out of the apocalypse. But it’s nothing I can’t handle, and I certainly don’t need to talk to some shrink who’d probably think my time in the apocalypse is some elaborate metaphor for getting kicked out of the house and living on the streets for a couple of weeks.”

...Fair point. The public knew about and accepted the existence of superpowers (it was impossible not to with all the media coverage the Academy had gotten back in the day), but the idea of traveling forward in time to a world ravaged by the apocalypse, getting stuck there for 45 years, and becoming trapped in one’s thirteen-year-old body on the way back might possibly be a bit unbelievable for the average therapist. And that wasn’t even including the whole “evil organization of assassins that controlled the flow of time” part, which Klaus probably wouldn’t have believed himself if he hadn’t gotten himself kidnapped by two of said assassins and forcibly yanked to 1960s Vietnam.

But anyway, Five was having flashbacks? That definitely hadn’t come up in conversation before. Klaus would remember, because, well, he had them, too.

“Hey, I have flashbacks, too! That time travel trauma really is a bitch, isn’t it?”

Five cocked his head at Klaus. “Really? To what? Or, I guess, when?”

“Oh, you remember my little jaunt to the Vietnam War during Apocalypse Prevention Week, right? I may have developed a _touch_ of PTSD. Just a smidge, really.” Klaus reached out to pat Five on the shoulder. “Common experiences are really a great foundation for emotional bonding,” he added sagely. 

“I’m sure,” Five said dryly, deftly removing Klaus’s hand. But then he paused, looking thoughtful. “I never did apologize for that, did I? Hazel and Cha-Cha were after me, and they only took you as a bargaining chip to use against me. That never should have happened. I’m sorry you had to endure that, Klaus.” 

Klaus blinked. Five was...apologizing to him? Klaus pinched his arm surreptitiously to make sure this wasn’t actually a dream. (It wasn’t. Now his arm hurt.) Well, huh. He definitely hadn’t expected that. 

“Thanks, little bro, I appreciate it. I get that a lot of shit was going down and you were on a one week ticking timer counting down to certain death for literally the entire world, so I don’t blame ya too much. But yeah, kidnapping and torture, not exactly on my top ten list of recreational activities.” Although that whole experience had dominoed into him meeting Dave, so maybe it hadn’t been all bad...

Despite Klaus’s inability to be outwardly serious about anything (it really was a problem sometimes), Five seemed to get that he was legitimately forgiven, because he nodded slowly and gave Klaus a small but genuine smile. 

Hell yeah, emotional intimacy achieved! Was there, like, a badge for that or something? He’d need an extra large Boy Scout vest for all the sibling bonding he was getting up to these days. 

Klaus cleared his throat. “So. Top three alcoholic beverages?” It was possible he hadn’t entirely mastered the art of the emotionally-intimate-discussion-of-trauma-to-casual-conversation segue yet.

Five blinked at him. “What?”

“You heard me, old man. I know I’m sober now and all that jazz, but being questionably reformed alcoholics is something else we have in common, soooooo…” Klaus trailed off leadingly.

Five seemed to have been rendered spontaneously mute, so Klaus decided to prompt him again. “Come on, man. You like margaritas, right? And piña coladas? You did drink, like, seven of them at that water park, so one assumes. I personally go, well, used to go, more for the hard stuff — gets ya wasted much more efficiently — but to each their own, I guess.”

“I. What is this conversation?” Five sounded positively baffled now, as if the idea of a conversation that wasn’t either an argument, exposition dump, or some kind of dick-measuring contest was a novel idea to him. Although to be fair, he honestly probably hadn’t encountered many other types, given his, uh, general life experiences. 

“We’re _bonding_ ,” Klaus said, emphasizing the importance of that last word with some tasteful jazz hands.

“Hm,” said Five, tragically unimpressed by the jazz hands. 

“Pretty please with a cherry on top, Fivey?”

Five made his All Of You Are Fucking Children I Swear To God face, but then he sighed and spent the next 25 minutes detailing all the alcohol he had drunk in the apocalypse and rating it based on a series of criteria including taste, effectiveness in making one briefly forget the soul-crushing knowledge that they were the only living person on the smoking ruin of the Earth, and hangover intensity. This was why people said to be careful what you wished for, wasn’t it.

Right when Five was gearing up to talk about all the ways you could kill someone with one of those little paper umbrellas they put in margaritas, Klaus, whose gaze had been wandering desperately during this entire one-sided conversation, spotted an employee turning the lock on the inside of the grocery store door. With all the relief of a man being choked to death on the floor by a murderer stretching out his fingers frantically and finding a conveniently placed object to bash the murderer over the head with, Klaus pointed dramatically to the door and said loudly, “Wow, would you look at that, the grocery store is open!”

“Oh, is it? I really hadn’t noticed with how engaged I was in this conversation,” Five said, mildly enough that Klaus legitimately couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Was the weird phrasing supposed to indicate that the past couple dozen minutes had been intended as a punishment for daring to initiate casual conversation, or was it just because Five had spent 45 years in an unpopulated wasteland and didn’t know how to act like a normal fucking person? Unfortunately, the world would never know, because Klaus wasn’t dumb enough to ask him. 

“So glad to hear that! Really! However, the grocery store beckons, so let’s just table this...riveting discussion and go get some ingredients!” Klaus said, smiling, perhaps slightly maniacally.

And with that, he grabbed Five’s arm and tugged him bodily into the store.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry to have kept y'all waiting this long, but I've been ridiculously busy and for whatever reason trying to write this chapter has been like pulling teeth. I still don't know if I really like this chapter, but fuck it, here you go. I promise I'm still planning to finish this story at some point (it just might be a while)!!

Weirdly enough, Five really did seem impressed by the grocery store. It was subtle, but his eyes were wide and his gaze was flicking around the store and its colorful shelves of food in a distinctly awestruck way. Baby’s first shopping trip indeed. 

Klaus narrowly resisted the urge to throw an arm around Five’s shoulders, gesture expansively to the grocery store bounty, and start quoting some Lion King shit about “everything the light touches,” but he was determined not to undo any of their Bonding. It was very easy to go one step forward and immediately like seventeen back with Five if you weren’t careful. 

Instead, he settled for saying, “See, I told you these babies were a wonder of the modern world,” and smiling benevolently down at Five. 

“That you did,” Five said, pausing his survey of the store to roll his eyes at Klaus. His lips were quirked up at the corners in a tiny returning smile, though. 

“So,” Klaus said, offering Five his arm à la may-I-have-this-dance, “shall we?”

Five looked at his arm like Klaus was offering him a dumpster bagel. “Do you know what we need to get to make whatever brunch foods besides Belgian waffles you’ve got your heart set on? Or are we to wander this store aimlessly grabbing things? Actually, nevermind, I know you don’t know. I’ll be back.”

Before Klaus could even open his mouth to protest, Five disappeared in the middle of the damn store with his signature _shhhhhh-whoomp_ noise. Klaus had about thirty seconds to feel wildly offended and abandoned before Five reappeared in a flash of blue.

“I memorized the rest of the ingredients we need for the waffles, avocado toast, and mimosas,” Five said matter-of-factly.

Klaus decided the best course of action here was not to mention that he’d thought Five had abandoned him to a cold, lonely death in the harsh wilderness of the grocery store, and instead pretend he’d had faith in his big-little brother all along. “Ah, yes, of course. Very wise of you.” He nodded his head a little too aggressively, and Five gave him a weird look before presumably writing it off as Klaus being Klaus. 

“Anyway,” Klaus continued, “so, we need eggs and uh....”

“Milk, vanilla extract, avocados, lemon juice, bread, and champagne and orange juice, if you’re still clinging to the idea of mimosas. I took the liberty of checking for the waffle dry ingredients, and somehow we seem to have all of them.”

Wow, that was...thorough for thirty seconds. Then again, Klaus had seen Five in action, and that was plenty of time when you didn’t have to waste seconds, you know, physically walking from one end of the kitchen to the other. 

Klaus graced Five with a round of golf claps. “Wonderful! We’ll be cooking in no time!”

Well, that was a fucking lie. 

Oh, the hubris and the hope that 20-minutes-ago Klaus had had, before discovering that this store was laid out like an actually crazy person had organized it, and that was coming from someone who flirted with insanity on a weekly (if not daily) basis. 

The only, and Klaus meant only, good thing coming out of this was the random foodstuffs he kept shoving into the pockets of his coat while Five wasn’t looking as they traversed the labyrinthine aisles. He was fairly sure Five ordinarily would’ve noticed by now (the guy wasn’t an idiot), but he was too busy chewing out the one shelf stocker on the clock at this ungodly hour of the morning for the third time. 

“Why isn’t the lemon juice near the orange juice?” Five was saying, low and deadly. “Wouldn’t that be the _logical arrangement_?”

The employee stared down at Five with the classic look of your typical minimum wage worker being forced to deal with a thirteen-year-old boy in kneesocks threatening you at 6:20 in the morning: an potent mix of apathy, forced politeness, and bone-deep exhaustion.

“Sir, as I told you the last two times, I don’t determine the layout of the store,” she said, impressively tonelessly. 

“Useless!” Five spat, turning his back on the poor girl in a huff and stalking back over to Klaus, grocery basket swinging violently from his hand. Klaus tried to arrange his own hands so they covered his bulging pockets and then realized that actually looked way more suspicious and laced them casually behind his back. 

“Heeeeeeey, Five, maybe let’s leave the underpaid employee alone?” Like, was it objectively fucking hilarious to watch these confrontations? Oh, yeah. But Klaus was also totally woke enough to know that it wasn’t cool to harass people who were just trying to do their awful customer service job. 

Five didn’t even deign to answer, just curled his lip at Klaus and headed the other way down the aisle. Klaus hurried after him. 

“Five, hey, what if we got, uh, marshmallows? I know you like them in those sandwiches of yours,” Klaus said, trying for cheery and achieving a somewhat fearful Oh God Please Don’t Murder All The Employees Just Because This Grocery Store Sucks Ass tone of voice. 

“I’m not a child, Klaus,” Five growled at him, without even turning his head, still powerwalking down the aisle. How he was such an Olympic-level powerwalker with legs that short, Klaus would never understand. Maybe it was some really lame secondary power? 

“So, if my Fivespeak translator is still functional, that’s a ‘duh, but I’m embarrassed to admit it,’ right?”

Five scoffed and made a sharp right into the next aisle over. “Do whatever you want, Klaus. I’ll get your ridiculous ingredients and blink home, and you can make your own way back to the mansion.”

Klaus made the most offended noise he could and put a hand over his heart, though that part had less impact than he had hoped given Five was still racing down the aisles ahead of Klaus and not even sparing a glance in his direction. “But Fiiiiiiive, you agreed to this brunch! We were bonding! Are you really going to let some dumb grocery store get in the way of that?”

Five stopped so abruptly that Klaus, who was still jogging to catch up, almost tripped over him. Five rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, but then just sighed defeatedly. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit, my expectations for grocery shopping were...somewhat higher, given the way you described it. But you _are_ right, I did agree to do this with you. And I suppose all we really have left to find is the lemon juice and champagne.”

Klaus beamed at him. “I knew I could count on you! Thanks, Fivey.” 

Five closed his eyes in a trademark Dear Little Girl On Bike, Please Give Me The Strength Not To Punch My Brother Even Though It Would Be So Fucking Satisfying expression. “Please don’t call me that.”

Klaus sighed dramatically. “Allllll right, fine, since you’re so generously dedicating this day to brotherly bonding brunch, I guess I can nix the nicknames for a sec.”

“Thanks,” Five said (almost not sarcastically, so, progress!). 

The lemon juice turned out to be near the dessert aisle, for whatever reason, which Klaus popped into to have a little peek and possibly pad his pockets a teensy bit more, although they were far past the point of obviously filled stolen goods at this point. He gave a shelf of individually packaged pastries a quick once over, snatched a Twinkie pretty much at random, and turned around to find Five, only to see that his scarily sneaky bro was directly behind him.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Klaus said calmly, definitely not jumping three feet into the air at the sight of the little uniformed gremlin. 

“Klaus, are you seriously stealing…” Five began, his eyes finally finding Klaus’s bulging pockets, before seeming to trail off as he noticed the Twinkie nestled incriminatingly in Klaus’s hand. 

Faster than Klaus could react, Five darted forward and slapped the innocent Twinkie out of his hand, sending it to the ground with a pathetic smooshy crinkle. 

“What did that Twinkie ever do to you?” Klaus asked, bewildered. Taking his anger out on terrible artificial desserts was better than most of Five’s coping mechanisms, actually, but come on. 

“Trust me, I’m doing you a favor,” Five said grimly, grabbing Klaus’s arm and dragging him away.

Well. There was a lot to unpack there, but Klaus was okay with throwing away the entire suitcase! Because the next and last item on their brunch list was champagne, which meant the Alcohol Aisle.

Ah, the Alcohol Aisle. Didn’t that bring back memories, most of them terrible. This was for the sake of bonding brunch though, so Klaus was going to suck it up and get the champagne without incident so his lovely siblings who weren’t alcoholics could have some very nice mimosas. He took a deep breath and plunged after Five into the aisle, wishing he had a human version of those blinder things that they put on horses to keep them from looking anywhere but forward. 

“This is fun, huh?” he called after Five, who was still charging ahead with his man-on-a-mission powerwalk. “Just the two of us reforming alcoholics, here in the alcohol aisle together.”

“I just want to point out that the mimosas were your idea,” Five said, scanning the shelves with laser focus. He selected a bottle and dropped it into the grocery basket with the rest of their stuff. “Now, let’s check out. Please try not to get caught stealing. As entertaining as it would be to fight grocery store employees, I’m not eager to make a scene this early in the morning.”

Klaus patted his pockets gingerly and stared at Five in order to avoid staring at the shelves. “Can’t you check out and I just sneak out?”

“Klaus, as much as it pains me to admit this, I look thirteen. I have no driver’s license or any form of ID. They are not going to let me buy this alcohol. And besides, you have the cash.”

Oh, right, that. Uh. Now that Klaus thought about it, did _he_ even have a driver’s license? Hm. This could be a problem.

“About that,” Klaus said.

“You don’t have a driver’s license either, do you.”

“Not so much.”

“Great,” Five sighed. “You know what, whatever, let’s just blink home. We can leave some of Dad’s money somewhere as payment. I’m sure this will absolutely never bite us in the ass at some point in the future.”

Klaus looked around the aisle to make sure they didn’t have an audience (he shouldn’t have worried, though, since it’d basically just been them and the poor shelf stocker woman this whole time), then clapped his hands together. Stealing groceries was absolutely essential to the creation of an amazing brunch. “Sounds like a plan, man!”

Klaus dug awkwardly to the bottom of one of the pockets to retrieve the cash and presented a few crumpled twenties to Five with a winning smile. Five grabbed the money and handed Klaus the grocery basket in return, then disappeared in a flash of blue.

He reappeared a few seconds later without the twenties. “All right, here’s your warning,” Five said, laying a hand on Klaus’s coat sleeve, and Klaus at least had a moment this time to take a deep breath and hold it before he was once again squeezed through the buttcrack of space and time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned to do all the cooking in one chapter, but it started getting kind of long, so the next half will be coming Sometime! (Possibly soon, but my motivation is a strange beast and I can't promise you anything concretely. But Definitely Eventually). 
> 
> Please enjoy, and if ya feel like it, let me know which part of this chapter was your fave :)

Klaus stumbled forward out of the void and nearly dumped the contents of their shopping basket all over the floor, but thanks to his perfectly honed reflexes, he managed to save the groceries by diving forward and faceplanting into the kitchen tile. 

“Nice catch,” Five said dryly from somewhere above/behind him.

“Thanks for the concern!” Klaus shot back after a good string of cursing, rubbing his stinging nose with one hand and setting the basket gently down with the other. Well, one did have to be willing to sacrifice for the things they loved. If his face having a close encounter with the kitchen floor was what it took to make sure brunch happened, Klaus could live with that. 

“Of course,” Five said, Sahara-like, and then before Klaus could come up with a good quip to keep the banter going, he grabbed Klaus’s arm and hoisted him back up to his feet. Damn, his brother was strong for a noodly-armed thirteen-year-old! Not that Klaus would ever tell him that in so many words, or Five would probably rip Klaus’s throat open or whatever. 

As Klaus dusted off his coat (the floor was somewhat dirty because Mom was on vacation and she was the only one who bothered to sweep, and yikes, the rest of them should really get on that, shouldn’t they, because Mom deserved to have a life that wasn’t all about cleaning up after them! Klaus would get Luther on that, stat), Five picked up the groceries and laid them out on the table. It looked like all the ingredients were still intact, except—

“Awwww, half the avocados fell out somewhere in the void,” Klaus told Five with an exaggerated frown. They still had enough for at least a few avocado toasts, but either some people would have to pass or everyone would be getting toast, skimpy on the avocado. 

“Tragic,” Five said, continuing to unload the groceries. At least it looked like the champagne had survived the trip, which actually was kind of surprising given the amount of squeezing and pressure Klaus, at least, had been forced to endure on every one of Five’s little jumps. He was still convinced he’d left his stomach back at the grocery store, even with the few seconds of preparation he’d had this time. 

Around when Five had finished unloading all the groceries, Ben came wandering into the kitchen, probably summoned by loud thudding and subsequent cursing Klaus’s meet and greet with the tile had resulted in. 

“Oh good, you’re back. How was the—wait a second, is that a shopping basket, did you _steal_?” Ben glared at Klaus with an entirely unwarranted amount of accusation in his eyes. This was the hill they were dying on this morning? Really?

“It was Five’s idea!” Klaus protested. “He basically forced me to go along with him!”

“Who are you—oh, hello, Ben,” Five said, staring approximately four feet to Ben’s left. “Klaus, I have no idea what you’re accusing me of, but can you manifest Ben so we can have an actual conversation instead of talking about me to thin air?”

“I literally do not believe that for a second,” Ben told Klaus, having politely let Five say his piece before returning to his misguided crusade against Klaus. 

“If you’re going to be like this, why would I want to manifest you?” Klaus said petulantly, but then realized that policing when Ben got to interact with his siblings based on how nice he was being to Klaus was kind of a dick move, sighed, and concentrated on letting his power flow into his fists. Klaus was definitely getting better at this, because it only took a second or two before his hands lit up blue and Five’s gaze shifted four feet over to where Ben actually was. 

“So, I seem to have missed half a conversation. What did I ‘force’ Klaus to do?” Five asked, air quotes heavily evident in his voice without him needing to actually do them. Klaus often wished he could pull off Five’s I’m Asking But I Actually Couldn’t Care Less About Your Opinions Because I’m Always Right voice/expression combo as well as Five could, but his current hypothesis was that it was only so effective for Five because of the inherent bitchy potential of every thirteen-year-old’s face and pre-puberty voice. 

“Klaus said you forced him to steal from the store, which I assume isn’t at all true,” Ben said in a tone containing far too much snooty assurance. 

“Ah,” Five said, looking uncharacteristically slightly chagrined, “it was more of a team effort. And we did leave plenty of money, so it was hardly _stealing_.”

Ben looked faintly shocked, which Klaus thought was dumb, because why would you expect the literal time-traveling assassin to stick to unimportant morals like Don’t Steal Shit?

When Ben’s gaze swung to Klaus’s to confirm, Klaus just gave his ghost brother his pettiest smirk, which Ben didn’t deign to respond to with anything but one of his long-suffering sighs. 

“Right,” Five said, having apparently decided that this conversation was over. “Let’s get this over with.”

— 

Despite judicious consultation of Betty’s Brunch Bible, the actual cooking of the brunch was easier said—well, read—than done. 

After Klaus had hauled out the waffle iron from where it was collecting dust in one of the cabinets (Mom was more of a pancake gal, so they hadn’t used it in a while) and nearly succeeded in flattening his toe with it, he and Five started to attempt creating the batter. 

The first step was mixing together the dry ingredients, which seemed pretty easy, since all they had to do was measure out the right amount of each one, dump them all in a bowl, and whisk. 

Klaus decided to take advantage of his assigned task of measuring out the flour to “accidentally” make the bag poof up all over Five’s face, which seemed like a great idea for a prank until he saw the murder in his pipsqueak of a brother’s eyes. 

“I knew you were bad at cooking, Klaus, but I thought even you would understand that the ingredients are supposed to go _in the bowl_ ,” Five snapped, scraping a hand over his flour-covered face and only succeeding in smearing it around and making him look more like a clown school dropout. 

“Oops, my bad!” Klaus said cheerfully, licking his finger and using it to remove a small fraction of the flour from Five’s cheek. The finger was batted away almost instantly, but Five didn’t start kicking in his shins or bashing him over the head with the measuring cups, so really Klaus had gotten off easy. 

Ben, who had decided to hang out and watch what he probably (correctly) assumed was going to some very entertaining chaos (with the excuse that he couldn’t _possibly_ help because Klaus didn’t have the “mental capacity” to keep him corporeal while cooking) stifled a laugh from where he was lounging on top of the dining table. To be fair, Ben wouldn’t exactly be able to partake in the beautiful brunch creations, so it was technically somewhat acceptable for him to beg off. 

While Five continued to battle the flour stuck to his face, Klaus managed to measure out the rest of the dry ingredients, stick them in the bowl, and mix them up. There. Step one complete!

Klaus smiled at Five. Five glared back at him, face finally de-floured. 

“So glad we decided to do this! I’m having fun already!” Klaus said. 

“That makes one of us,” Five muttered, cracking the eggs with slightly more force than strictly necessary. 

Everything went smoothly for about two minutes until they had to determine what constituted a “stiff peak.” 

Five was convinced that they needed to keep mixing the egg whites because the peaks that appeared when he lifted up the mixer were “far too droopy at the top,” but Klaus could’ve sworn he’d read somewhere that the peaks were _supposed_ to be a little droopy at the top and if they mixed it any more they’d fuck up the egg whites permanently. 

“Maybe you should wake up Allison and ask her,” Ben put in helpfully. “She’s definitely a way better chef than either of you; I’m sure she knows.”

“Shut up, Ben!” Klaus said.

“What did Ben say?” Five asked.

Klaus told him.

“Shut up, Ben,” Five said. 

Well, at least they were on the same page there. 

They compromised on another ten seconds of mixing, which seemed to not ruin the egg whites entirely, so Klaus was counting that a success. 

Then, they had to mix the wet ingredients, which wasn’t super difficult. Only a few tiny eggshell pieces fell into the bowl, and it took just seven tries to get them all out! So they were basically professional chefs at this point. 

Five took over the mixing together of the wet and dry ingredients, since he claimed that he didn’t trust Klaus not to get more flour on his face, which, fair enough. Next, they were supposed to “fold in the egg whites.” Whatever that meant. 

Ben was laughing at them again for not knowing how to fold egg whites, which was very uncool of him, because that was hardly a basic cooking skill, and where was Klaus supposed to have learned about all these fancy techniques anyway? Rehab? On the street? While couchsurfing? 

Klaus glared at Ben. “Fine, if you’re so good at folding eggs, you do it.”

Ben raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? It’s literally in the name. You scoop the whites into the bowl and then use a spatula to _fold_ them over into the rest of the batter.”

Ah. Well. That was embarrassingly simple, wasn’t it? But hey, if self-proclaimed genius Five hadn’t been able to figure it out either, Klaus wasn’t doing so bad. 

He relayed Ben’s description to Five, who said, “Ah. Yeah. That does make sense,” and managed to fold in the egg whites in a way that was “kind of shitty but good enough” (in Ben’s words). 

Finally, the batter was done! Now all there was left to do was pour it in the waffle maker, which they’d wisely let heat up while they were creating the batter, and make some motherfucking waffles!

Klaus stood impatiently behind Five as he carefully poured a half-cup of batter into the waffle iron and closed the top. “I get to do the next one!” Klaus proclaimed grandly.

“Personal space, Klaus,” Five groused, attempting to squeeze out from between Klaus and the counter.

“Personal space is o-ver-rated!” Klaus sang, wrapping his arms around Five lovingly. 

“Eugh, get off,” Five protested, but, miracle of miracles, he didn’t immediately blink away or knee Klaus in his no-no square. Five had strong cat energy, Klaus mused, as Five twisted and squirmed slightly in his arms. 

“Okay, okay, didn’t mean to ruffle all your feathers. I’m just so excited!” Klaus said, releasing Five, who immediately put the measuring cup down and started smoothing out the wrinkles Klaus had given his blazer. Yeah, that was cat energy, all right. 

After a minute or two of watching the waffle maker like a hawk, Klaus informed Five that it was definitely ready and lifted up the top to take a peek. The waffle was a beautiful golden brown, almost exactly the shade of that picture from the Brunch Bible, and Klaus almost forgot to breathe for a second as he marveled at its majesty. 

“Hel-lo there, beautiful,” Klaus crooned, barely resisting stroking the waffle’s perfectly circular edge. 

Five sighed and handed him a fork. “Are you going to get it out or do you two want to get a room?” Which was pretty rich, coming from the guy who had married a mannequin (or dated? Klaus never really had been too clear on their relationship status), but Klaus was just nice enough not to bring that up. 

Klaus hated to marr such perfection by stabbing it with a fork, but Five did have a point; they had to get it out of the waffle maker before anyone could enjoy the waffle’s fluffy golden goodness. 

“Sorry,” Klaus whispered to the waffle, and then stabbed the fork into its side and lifted gently up. The waffle, instead of sliding smoothly off the bottom of the iron like it was supposed to, immediately ripped apart into several pieces.

“NOOOOOOO!” Klaus wailed, staring anguished upon the carnage he had wrought. 

“Heh, I think you guys forgot to grease the bottom of the waffle maker,” Ben said blandly, heartless villain that he was, having abandoned his lounging to peer over Klaus’s shoulder at the guts of the poor, innocent waffle hanging off of Klaus’s fork and spread across the waffle maker.

Before Klaus could respond, Five ripped the fork violently from his hand and stuck the waffle guts in his mouth. 

Klaus gasped in horror. Five rolled his eyes at Klaus and chewed thoughtfully. 

“Pretty good, actually.” 

“You monster.”

“We have literally an entire bowl of batter left,” Five pointed out.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Klaus said, pouting. 

“You’re an idiot,” Ben said, hopping back up on the dining table. 

Ah, family bonding.


End file.
